So she made a proposition. She said to all the youths who came suing for her hand: “Behold! our nation is at enmity with the Zunis, far off to the eastward, over the mountains. If any of you be so stout of limb and strong of heart and brave of will, let him go to Zuni, slay the men of that nation, our enemies, and bring home, not only as proofs of his valor, but as presentations to the warrior societies of our people, scalps in goodly number. Him will I admire to the tips of my eyelashes; him will I cherish to the extent of my powers; him will I make my husband, and in such a husband will I glory!”
But most of the young and handsome suitors who worried her with their importunities would depart forthwith, crestfallen, loving the girl as they did, forsooth, much less than they feared the warriors of Zuni—so degenerate they had become, for shame! Months passed by. Not one of those who went to the maiden’s house full of love came away from it with as much love as want of valor.
At last this outcast youth I have mentioned—who was spoken to by none, who lived not even in the houses of his people, but, all filth and rags, made himself comfortable as best he could with the dogs and eagles and other creatures captive of the people, eating like them the castaway and unwholesome scraps of ordinary meals—heard these jilted lovers conversing from time to time, exclaiming one to another: “A valuable maiden, indeed, for whom one would risk one’s life single handed against a nation whose ancients ever prevailed over all men! No! though she be the loveliest of women, I care not for her on those conditions.” “Nor I!” “Nor I!” others would exclaim.
Overhearing this talk, the youth formed a most presumptuous resolution—no other, in fact, than this: that he himself would woo the maiden.
All dirty and ragged as he was, with hair unkempt, fingernails long, and person calloused by much exposure, lean and wiry like an abused but hardened cur, he took himself one night to the home of the maiden’s father.
“She-e!” he exclaimed at the entrance of the house, on the top.
And the people within called out: “Kwátchi!”
“Are ye in?” inquired the youth, in such an affable and finished tone and manner of speaking that the people expected to see some magnificent youth enter, and to listen to his proposal of marriage with their maiden.
When they called out “Come in!” and he came stepping down the ladder into the lighted room, they were, therefore, greatly surprised to see this vagabond in the place of what they expected; nevertheless, the old father greeted him pleasantly and politely and showed him a seat before the fireplace, and bade the women set food before him. And the youth, although he had not for many a day tasted good food or consumed a full meal even, ate quite sparingly; and, having finished, joined, by the old man’s invitation, in the smoking and conversation of the evening.
At last the old man asked him what he came thinking of; and the youth stated that, although it might seem presumptuous, he had heard of the conditions which the maiden of this house had made for those who would win her, and it had occurred to him that he would be glad to try—so little were his merits, yet so great his love.
The old man listened, with an inward smile; and the maiden, though she conceived no dislike for the youth (there was something about him, strange to say, now that his voice had been heard, which changed her opinion of him), nevertheless was quite merry, all to herself, over this unheard-of proposal. So, when she was asked what she thought of the matter, merely to test the seriousness of the young vagabond’s motives, she made the conditions for him even harder than she had for the others, saying: “Look you, stranger! If you will slay single-handed some of the warriors of the valiant Zunis and bring back to our town, to the joy of our warriors and people, a goodly number of their scalps, I will indeed wed you, as I have said I would the others.”
This satisfied the youth, and, bidding them all pass a happy night, he went forth into the dark.
Not quite so poor and helpless as he seemed, was this youth; but one of those wonderful beings of this earth in reality, for, behold! as he had lived all his days since childhood with the dogs and eagles and other captive animals of the towns of Moki-land, so, from long association with them, he had learned their ways and language and had gained their friendship and allegiance as no other mortal ever did. No family had he; no one to advise him, save this great family of dogs and other animals with which he lived.
What do you suppose he did? He went to each hole, sheltered nook, and oven in the town and called on the Dogs to join him in council, not long before morning of that same night. Every Dog in the town answered the summons; and, below the mesa on which Walpi stands, on one of those sloping banks lighted by the moon, they gathered and made a tremendous clamor with their yelpings and barkings and other noises such as you are accustomed to hear from Dogs at nighttime. The proposition which the youth made to this council of Dogs was as follows:
“My friends and brothers, I am about to go forth on the path of war to the cities of the Zunis toward the sunrise. If I succeed, my reward will be great. Now, as I well know from having lived amongst you and been one of you so
